Fish, Fish
by Croik
Summary: When Captain America is pulled from the ice but doesn't wake up, Fury makes the best of a bad situation, and Coulson gets everything he thought he wanted. Mild CoulsonHill


AVengers, its characters and settings, do not belong to me and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated T for mild violence, character death, and possibly triggering identity crisis. At the moment it's only a one shot. All comments and crit welcome.

* * *

**Fish, Fish**

Director Nick Fury gets the call. The first person he calls after that is Phil Coulson. An hour later, Coulson is on a plane to New York.

It takes a week for the wreckage to be properly salvaged, secured, and shipped. The world's greatest soldier is delivered in a block of ice, out the back of a refrigerated truck as if he's meat. Coulson is beside himself as he oversees the unloading and leads the team into the lab. Hill is on site. She says she's never seen Coulson _giddy_ before, and Coulson chuckles but doesn't say anything. He knows that anything that comes out of his mouth will resemble "pinch me" and that's a dangerous offer to make to Maria Hill.

Six of SHIELD's finest line up around the block with hair dryers. Their progress is excruciatingly slow, as no one wants to be responsible for damaging the precious cargo beneath. They take the ice off layer by layer. Coulson watches through quarantine glass, flashing back to the summer of '75 he spent glaring through a storefront window at the outrageous price scrawled next to _Captain America Collector's Edition #8_. His chest tightens, and he thinks, _Welcome home, soldier._ It's enough to make a grown man weak in the knees.

Seventy minutes later, Captain America's face is revealed. Everyone remarks on how impossibly well preserved his skin and hair are. They continue working, and it's three minutes later that a curious tech peels back the Captain's eyelid, and his pupil constricts against the fluorescent lights.

My God. _He's still alive._

The whole room flies into a panic. Six more agents are crammed in hazmat suits and put to work. With the increased pace two of the Captain's fingers are snapped off because they hadn't quite thawed enough. Hill orders a surgical team to stand by, and they assure her that the break is so clean, and conditions so ideal, that they'll be able to reattach the digits with no lasting damage and unnoticeable scarring.

Coulson's fairly certain that he doesn't take a breath for eleven minutes, and is about to pass out when a hand comes down on his shoulder, and Fury says close to his ear, "Don't get your hopes up."

Coulson stares straight ahead and is composed again. "Sir?"

"He may be alive, but he's been in that ice almost seventy years," says Fury. "It'll be a miracle if he has any amount of brain activity, let alone wakes up."

Enough ice is cleared away that they can see the white star on the Captain's chest. Coulson smiles. "I believe in miracles," he says.

And then he starts pounding on the glass, because one of the techs is reaching for the uniform with a scalpel in hand.

Captain America is warmed up, cleaned up, and inspected from head to toe. It takes a defibrillator to get his heart properly pumping, but once it's going it's as strong as ever. After an hour of the oxygen mask it's determined that he doesn't need it. They take samples of his blood, his skin, his sweat, his hair, his saliva, and a few other things. They reattach the two fingers on his left hand. At long last, prison of war Captain America is dressed and laid gently to bed. He sleeps very peacefully.

Coulson makes sure that every agent in a five floor radius knows to contact him at the slightest change and goes back to his office. He spends the rest of the day pulling together the Captain's folder. Every important document, every picture and scrap of footage, every half-confirmed anecdote makes it in. When Hill comes to check on him, she insists that he cut it down to a manageable size or else the Council will lose interest. Though secretly appalled, Coulson complies. He presents his folder to Fury and isn't surprised by the face he gets in return.

"He's still comatose," Fury says.

"It's just in case," says Coulson. "I'll update it when he wakes up."

Fury stares. It's what he does when...well, all the time. But Coulson didn't make it to senior agent by losing staring contests, and a few beats later Fury sighs. "The Avengers Initiative has been scrapped," he says. He pulls the file closer. "But I'll hold onto this. Just in case."

"Thank you, sir."

After dinner, Coulson visits Captain America in his room. The doctors are monitoring his brain waves, and judging by the looks they shoot at Coulson as he enters, the prognosis is not promising. As they pack up their equipment, Coulson asks, "What's the likelihood of him regaining consciousness?"

"Not high," says the lead technician. "Honestly, sir, I'm not sure there's anything left in there."

Coulson frowns at the Captain's peaceful face. "So he can't hear us."

"No, sir. I don't think so."

The techs leave. Coulson just stands and watches for a while, trying not to let sentiment get the better of him. There's no chair in the room, so he sits himself on the edge of the mattress and watches some more.

Captain America looks just like all his old photos, just like Coulson always envisioned. In his line of work Coulson is used to reports and rumors not living up to expectations, but he knows already that this is not one of those cases. Captain America is strong, and handsome, and tenacious-he's stubborn enough to have survived over half a century in ice just to make it home.

"I never really thought this day would come," says Coulson, his voice quiet and a little rough in the silent room. "Even SHIELD stopped talking about you a long time ago. But here you are." He smiles. "It's an honor to meet you-really, you have no idea." His shoulders sag a little. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Captain America sleeps on. His face doesn't change, his breath is still slow and even, but Coulson isn't deterred. "They said you can't hear me," he continues, "so I don't mind telling you, I've wished for this my entire life. I used to be just like you, when I was young. Someone had to take a big chance on me. You know what that's like, don't you? You're my inspiration." He tries to rub the blush out of his cheek. "Maybe if you'd just wake up, I could tell you in person."

Coulson pauses, giving the Captain the opportunity to do so, if he's so inclined, but nothing. "It's all right," he says. "Take your time. Just not_too_ much time. We need you." When the words don't seem enough he takes the Captain's hand and squeezes. "We need you," he says again, and he wants to say more, but then he realizes that someone is standing in the doorway behind him.

It's Hill. Her brow is furrowed as she stares at the joined hands. Coulson extracts himself from the Captain and the bed, though calmly, without the jerk of guilt that a less experienced agent might display. "Agent Hill."

"Agent Coulson." She smiles a tight, uncertain smile. "Until today, I thought I knew everything there was to know about you."

"You should know better," Coulson says, slightly teasing as he passes her on his way out the door. "In our line of work, we can never really know anyone."

Hill closes the door behind him and follows. "Our line of work _is_ to know everything," she counters. "Especially about people."

Coulson shakes his head. "Our job is to make people _think_ we know everything about them. And let them _think_ they know everything about us in return."

He casts a raised eyebrow Hill's way, and she sighs, shaking her head. "In that case, you're the best of us, Agent Coulson," she says, and he doesn't know if it's a compliment or not, but he takes it as one.

Coulson works hard all through the next day and makes his evening free. He visits Captain America again, and again finds the techs there already. Fury is with them, looking grim.

"No brain activity," says Fury. "All involuntary bodily functions are still normal, but there's no one home." He motions to the techs, and they start another series of tests on their unconscious lab rat. "I'm sorry, Coulson, but it looks like I won't be needing that report after all."

Coulson glances from Fury to the techs, who look like they've only just begun working. "If you're so sure, what are they doing?"

Fury stares. "It's just in case, Agent."

Fury and Coulson stand back, chatting idly about their busy docket for the next several days, reminiscing about older days when Captain America was a half-remembered fantasy used to inspire new recruits. "It's a shame we didn't find him sooner," says Fury. "Ten, twenty years ago. Back when you and I were field agents."

"All SHIELD agents are field agents," says Coulson fondly.

Fury snorts. "This field agent is getting old," he confesses, uncharacteristically frank. "'Bout the only way I could keep up with Captain America is when he's like this." He looks at Coulson sideways. "Tell me you don't wish you could have been side by side in the field, when you were at your best."

Coulson doesn't return the look. "Please don't tease me, sir."

"Damn shame." Fury goes back to watching the captain sleep on, oblivious. "Hell of a thing, fate. Bringing him only half back. A damn fucking shame."

Once the techs are finished, they leave and Fury leaves with them. Coulson sits down on the bed.

"I don't believe them," he says, and he takes the Captain's hand again, squeezing tightly, hoping that skin on skin will connect them where words have failed. "I've seen a lot of strange and miraculous things as an agent here, a lot stranger than a man in a coma waking up when everyone said he couldn't. I think you're still in there." He covers the Captain's hand with both of his. "You still have a job to do, soldier. I know you'll wake up when you're ready."

Coulson visits the Captain every night that week. He's not used to talking about himself, but for the Captain he does, recounting some of his favorite Captain America moments, sharing a few choice stories from his childhood. He thinks it helps, giving the Captain something in the world that he can latch on to outside himself. Little by little, he's drawing his hero back. And Fury's right-he's not at his best anymore. He gets winded sometimes. He has no hope of keeping up with Captain America at half his strength let alone at his peak, but that was never going to be the case anyway. That part doesn't matter, because just having the opportunity to be at the Captain's back would be enough.

But Captain America doesn't wake up. At the end of the week Fury decides that his best agents can't be spared any longer, and Coulson and Hill are both sent into the field again, with reassurances that they will be notified if the need arises. Coulson is reluctant to leave, but he doesn't question. He throws himself into work but he still thinks of the Captain often, without letting it affect his performance. Then he gets called to the energy research station where Dr. Selvig has been experimenting with the Tesseract, and everything is about to go to hell. Captain America hasn't woken up.

He will never wake up.

* * *

SHIELD needs a response team. Romanoff gets the big guy. Coulson gets Stark, and in retrospect he should have fought to have them swapped. Hacking his way into Stark Tower is surely satisfying, and Pepper's company is always a pleasure, but Stark himself is sometimes a challenge, even for Coulson. Especially when Coulson is not at his best.

Stark opens the files right then and there, and his eye catches immediately on the image of Captain America. He frowns at it for a long moment and then raises an eyebrow in Coulson's direction. "I heard you found him, but I didn't know he thawed out all right," he says.

Coulson smiles. It's his oldest and most successful defense mechanism. "He didn't," he says. "That file isn't up to date, sorry."

"How can you expect me to give you my A game with outdated information?" says Stark, but Coulson only smiles deeper as Pepper steps in to talk Stark down. He's not worried-Stark will come in. Stark will give everything he has, because that's what people do when they have a debt to pay to themselves. Coulson has seen it enough times to know. He's lived it. But he's still not happy with himself for forgetting to take Captain America out of that file.

In the end, Stark takes the files and Coulson leaves with Pepper. She's used to dealing with men made of walls and she sees right through him. "That's too bad, about the Captain," she says. "Tony won't admit it, but I know he wanted to meet him. Is he really...?"

"It's still too soon to know," says Coulson. He believes it. When Pepper asks him about Wanda he bashfully admits that she's moved back to Portland. It isn't until then that he realizes he hasn't thought about her once since learning about the Captain, and he feels a little guilty about that. He gets the impulse to call, but how long do you have to know someone before giving them an "In case the world ends," farewell? It doesn't feel right, and he doesn't call.

When Coulson makes it back to the Hellicarrier, he learns almost immediately that the Captain has been brought on board as well. He asks Fury, who says, "I wanted to keep my eye on him. The Council has been sniffing around and they're asking about him."

"It was the Council that scrapped the Avengers Initiative to begin with," says Coulson, frowning. "Why would they be interested in Captain Rogers now?"

"Didn't ask," says Fury. "Not sure I want to know."

Coulson wants to know, but then they learn that Banner and Romanoff have landed, and there are more important things to worry about. Like Loki appearing in Germany.

They send Romanoff and Stark. It's not an ideal team but they get the job done, and Loki is taken into custody. A few civilians get hurt. Coulson doesn't flinch as he writes it into the report. On the way back Romanoff and Stark are rudely introduced to Thor Odinson and things get messy. It isn't until Coulson intervenes over the com and talks them down that they're able to limp back to base. The team is together but it's not what Coulson's hoped for. They're volatile, they're confused. He knows that if they were just one person stronger, they could be a team, just like he and Fury have always talked about. They need someone on their side they can trust, and Coulson isn't enough. They need a leader. They need a push.

Coulson is on the bridge when the attack comes. Fury sends Stark with a team of soldiers to repair the engine. Coulson hears bits and pieces of the communications between the rest of the team and is tempted to join them, but Fury sends him to the armory, and now is not the time to practice insubordination. He picks the prototype. He doesn't know what it does but as long as he can shoot something with it, he'll be satisfied. As he races to the brig he has the irrational thought that maybe Loki has come for the Captain. It's ridiculous, but then, he doesn't know what the Council would want with the Captain, either. He pushes the thought aside. Every man and woman on the Hellicarrier needs him now.

But Coulson isn't at his best anymore. He gets winded sometimes. Sometimes he forgets that he's dealing with Gods these days, though to be fair, he hasn't had a long time to let that sink in. He feels a rush of air and then the blade of a mind-controlling spear is plunging into his left lung. His throat fills with blood. His legs give out. He's lived too long to bother with his life flashing before his eyes, but he does manage a few calculated remarks and a rather nice _boom_. It's how any soldier would want to go out, he tells himself as Fury crouches in front of him. Famous last words. An enemy wounded. That's how the Captain went down.

"Sorry, boss," says Coulson.

"Just stay awake," says Fury. "Eyes on me." Something in his expression twists and he adds, "You'll never get to meet him if you clock out on me now."

"Ouch." Coulson's grimace is half smile as the numbness creeps all through him. "Thanks, boss. Stab me again, why don't you?"

Fury starts to say something, but Coulson is already gone.

Dying is a lot more peaceful than Coulson thought it would be. There's the light, of course. He knows the biological explanation for the feelings of weightlessness, the bizarre and enveloping euphoria, but that doesn't make them less inviting. He has vague sensations of movement and tingling. He drifts away, out of the world. He ceases to exist.

So it comes as a shock to Coulson himself more than anyone when he opens his eyes half an hour later.

The light is back, so much sharper and more painful than before. Coulson winces, and when he tries to shield himself from the fluorescents, pins and needles spread up and down every inch of his muscles. He clenches and shudders, and when he groans, it's not his voice that empties out of him. Gagging, he tries to form words, but then a dark shape blocks the light overhead and gives him something to focus on. It's Fury.

"Calm down," Fury orders. "Don't try to move yet-you're all right."

Coulson does what he's told. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly, in and out, letting the rush of panic and confusion ease out of him just like when he was a cadet. Something is very wrong. His body is still prickling all over-he can feel his nerves firing, causing his fingers and toes to twitch involuntarily. His limbs are bloated and he's drenched in sweat, but there's no pain in his back and chest where a spear wound ought to be. His carefully measured breaths are deep, unhindered. He's not just alive, he's whole. He's _more than_ whole. Moist bangs are brushing his forehead. He hasn't had bangs since the tenth grade.

"Boss?" he asks, and it's not his voice, but his throat hurts, so he knows it came from him. He swallows and even the inside of his mouth tastes wrong. "What..."

"Just take it easy," says Fury, and he touches Coulon's forehead, smoothing his hair back. How is that even possible? "Are you in pain?"

Coulson considers. He clenches his hands, he bends his knees, and hisses quietly at the return of the needles. "Six out of ten," he says.

"Good, actually. That's good."

"Vitals are stabilizing," someone reports nearby. "Heart rate, blood pressure, brain activity is all leveling off."

Coulson finally gets control of his body enough that he's able to reach for his chest. There's no hole, no stitches or bandages, not so much as a dimple. But there is muscle. Taut and trembling beneath his sweat-cooled skin is a span of muscle Coulson has never had, not even in his best years. He traces it to his shaped abdomen and broad hips, his mind flicking instinctually over the name of each muscle grouping. This isn't his body.

His eyes fly open again, and though the light stings them to watering he gazes up at Fury with fresh alarm. "What did you do to me?"

Fury takes a step back. "At least give me a head start before you try to kill me," he says.

Coulson jerks upright. Sensors rip off his skin and send the surrounding monitors into shrill panic, and the pair of technicians that are the room's only other occupants swiftly back away. He ignores them, tearing the rest of the equipment off him as he stares in shock at what's become of his body. His muscles are bulging, his veins pulsing, and his skin is young and scarred in places he can't remember being touched. The truth is already hard behind his ribs but he refuses to admit it, up until he sees his reflection in the observation glass.

Captain America is staring back at him.

Coulson tries to stand, but his knees give out almost immediately. It's Fury at his side that prevents him from collapsing onto the floor of the lab. "Steady," says Fury, and Coulson is too stunned to resist being prodded back onto the table. "Don't overdo it."

"What did you do to me?" Coulson asks again hoarsely. He stares at his reflection, still half numb with disbelief as he fingers his square jaw.

"The only thing I _could_ do," Fury says quietly.

The regret in his voice makes Coulson shudder, and he pushes Fury's hand off his shoulder. Despite the impossibility of his situation, his training kicks in and his brain strings the logic out for him. "You lied," he says. "You knew all along why the Council wanted Captain Rogers." His face flushes as he glares at his longtime ally and superior. "For this. If they couldn't wake him up they were going to put someone else in."

Fury leans back and can only stare. Coulson's defense mechanisms follow the logic, and he laughs, short and bitter, rubbing his eyes with both hands. "You've killed him," he says. "You...I helped you kill him."

"He was never going to wake up, Coulson," says Fury. "We both knew that."

Coulson shakes his head doggedly. "No. No."

"Steve Rogers has been dead for seventy years," Fury continues. "There was never any helping that. But the world still needs Captain America and it's _you_ now, do you understand?"

Coulson is known for his composure. Coulson is SHIELD-famous for being unflappable and controlled. Still, it's a tough fight not to lose his mind as he turns on Fury. "Why me?"

"Because..." Fury swallows. "I couldn't lose you."

The door opens, and Hill steps in. Her eyes widen at the sight of them and she swallows, too. "It worked?" she asks.

"Yes." Fury steps away as Coulson sags again into his hands. "What do you have to report?"

"Barton and Romanoff just deployed," says Hill. "Stark will reach the city before them. Still no sign of Banner or Thor, though we're still having trouble with communications." She glances fitfully between Fury and Coulson, hunched on the edge of the medical table. "But as far as we can tell, it's already started."

"Did you hear that, Coulson?" says Fury. "Our team is out there."

Coulson rubs his face again and lifts his head. He still feels as if his every nerve is on fire. He thinks of the Captain's gentle, slumbering face, and when he catches a glance of his own reflection again, his stomach lurches and he's almost made sick. He fights it back. "Loki got away with the Tesseract," he surmises. "He's opened the portal."

"And an army is on it's way through," finishes Fury. "There's no one else to send. If we can't stop them here..."

"You're asking me to go with them?" Coulson's breath catches in his throat. "I can barely stand, sir."

"That hasn't stopped you before."

Coulson stares down at his legs. They're like tree trunks as far as he's concerned, beautiful and strong, and he suddenly knows that when he stands again, they'll hold him. His body is powerful and preserved and it will obey him. He's terrified of it. He doesn't deserve this strength. He's not at his best anymore, and the thought of charging into a war only to have the last vestige of Captain America murdered along with the rest-to have another of Captain America's deaths on his hands-is too much for him to handle. When Fury starts to speak again Coulson waves him off. His hands are shaking and finally the reel of his life catches up to him, flashing through the hundred times he grabbed up a trash can lid as a child and pretended it was a shield. What a foolish, selfish boy he had been.

Hill sits down next to him. "Coulson," she says. "Your team needs you."

And that's all that matters. Coulson lets the guilt and anger slip away and he asks himself, what would Captain America have done if he _had_ woken up? Would he sit on the edge of a hospital bed and shudder at the thought of war? Would he hesitate for even a moment when good men and women were laying their lives on the line? Coulson will never know the answer, but when he presses his hand to his chest, he feels as if it's already inside him. There's no time for this bullshit.

"I'll go," he says. He puts a hand on Hill's shoulder and she helps him stand. "But I need the uniform."

* * *

Coulson puts on the uniform. He yanks on the boots and tightens the torso but hesitates at the gloves. When he flexes his left hand he can see the tiny white snakes of scar tissue around his knuckles where his fingers were once snapped off. He might not have noticed if he didn't know where to look, but he knows. He pulls his gloves on.

"How is it?" Hill asks. She hasn't taken her eyes off him since leaving the lab but he's given up trying to interpret her expression.

Coulson stretches his arms and shoulders, clenches his fists and rotates his ankles. "It's a little tight," he says.

Hill smiles. "It's your design."

Coulson doesn't want to be reminded. He stares down at the star on his chest, the red and white stripes, and wonders-yet again-if he can go through with this. He's a thief. A murderer. He suddenly has everything he's ever wanted, at a price he never expected to pay. It's dizzying and nauseating. But there's no time for it.

He lifts the shield. It's heavy but he has no trouble slotting it onto his arm, carrying its weight. He's sure his chest is going to burst by the time he's through.

"There are only four people who know what we did in that lab," says Hill as they make their way swiftly to the deck. "And it has to stay that way. There's no telling what The Council would say or do if they found out."

"Isn't it _your_ job to tell them?" asks Coulson.

Hill frowns. "Not this." She touches his arm. "You do understand, don't you? When you get down there, you can't tell them who you are."

"So what _do_ I tell them?" Coulson pulls his mask on and is momentarily distracted wrestling his hair beneath it. "You want me to pretend to be-"

"You _are_ Captain America now," says Hill. "That's all they need to know." When he glances to her doubtfully, she adds, "You've been undercover before, haven't you?"

Coulson swallows. "It's not exactly the same."

"You're going into a warzone. They're not going to ask, and if they do, you have amnesia. It's that simple, Captain."

Coulson gets a chill, and he wants to tell her not to call him that, but he's sure she'll only keep insisting. It's not worth it and he has to focus on what's ahead.

They climb into the back of a waiting jet. The pilot gapes, but he complies when Hill orders him out. Then Hill pulls on a helmet and climbs into the cockpit, and Coulson doesn't exactly gape, but his surprise is still on his face. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you in." Hill straps in and motions for him to brace himself. "Did you think I would let you do this alone?"

He did, but he doesn't say so. He nods his thanks and straps in.

By the time they arrive, Manhattan is a battlefield. Smoke rises is thick plumes over scarred and crumbling buildings, and up and down the streets civilians scream and scatter beneath the Chitauri onslaught. The Avengers are doing their best to keep the invaders contained, but there are too many, and there's no game plan.

"Stark, come in," says Hill over the radio. "This is Hill. I've brought you some reinforcements."

"I hope they have very big guns," comes Stark's reply.

Hill heads for the top of Stark Tower, but the Chitauri spot them immediately. Three of their vehicles break away and aim their weapons on the jet. Hill banks, narrowly missing the nearby buildings, and Coulson braces himself to keep from being thrown into the wall. They swerve through the streets, and some lightning from Thor gets a few of their pursuers off their back, but all of downtown is shooting or burning and Coulson leans over Hill's shoulder. "They're not going to let us close to that tower. Just find somewhere to drop me off."

"It's a war down there," says Hill. "_And_ a major city. There's not going to be anywhere to set down."

"That's not what I said," says Coulson, and he presses the release for the hatch.

Hill swoops in low. She's a better pilot than even Coulson gave her credit for, and even with the Chitauri on their backs she finds him a strip of roadway. Coulson straps an assault rifle to his back and the shield to his arm, and just before he disembarks, he glances back and sees Hill's eyes flashing at him. "We need you," she says.

She slows down just long enough that Coulson can leap from the craft, onto the back of half-demolished bus. He's fairly certain he's gone mad. The impact runs from the balls of his feet, through his ankles to his knees, and God damn it, it's been a while since his knees were that steady. He rolls and pops upright effortlessly, and isn't allowed even a moment to catch his breath before the Chitauri ground forces are on him. Instinct kicks in. He knows his way around a firefight and it only takes a few volleys with the rifle for him to figure out where the soft spots are in the Chitauri armor. When a few charge in close he bashes them with the shield, punches and tosses them off his bus. It's not until the closest foes have been downed that he takes a moment to catch his breath and recognize what he's done.

Coulson's body has been his for less than an hour, but it obeys him perfectly. His fitter than he's ever been, stronger, more agile. When a second round comes at him he tosses the shield in a perfect arc, like he hasn't done since the eighth grade, and doesn't have time to be surprised when it's a good hit. He follows with swift blows and a knee that cracks a Chitauri jaw. He has muscle memory for muscles that aren't his and part of him wonders if there's a ghost on his shoulder, guiding him. It's both comforting and terrifying.

"Captain, do you copy?" Hill buzzes in his ear. "Barton and Romanoff are half a mile north of your position, if you can reach them."

"Copy that," Coulson says automatically. "I'm en route."

Barton and Romanoff are holed up just below the open portal, in a fort made of abandoned taxis and SUVs. They're holding their own but they're only human, and the Chitauri are growing ever closer. As Coulson approaches he hears Romanoff say, "This is just like Budapest all over again!"

Coulson is dangerously close to replying, _All_ _we're missing is the C4 and a mime_, and is saved by Barton spotting him. "Holy shit," says Barton.

Coulson fires a few rounds into the closest Chitauri and then leaps into cover with them. He's been undercover before, but he's sure his acting is a little rusty. "I take it I'm on your side," he says.

"Captain." It's not often that Romanoff looks shocked. It's not a good look on her. "Seriously?"

"Picked a hell of a time to wake up," says Barton.

Coulson tries not to wince. He's worked with these agents a hundred times before. It's his job to know their strengths and weaknesses, to instruct them to tasks suited to them, and already his mind is whirling with possible strategies he can't relate because he's not supposed to know them at all. Even calling them the wrong name or moniker could blow his cover. When he tries to think of what Captain America would say, fresh from the ice in an alien warzone, the only words that spring to mind are _I don't have time for this bullshit._

"What's the situation with the portal?" he asks. "Is there no way to close it off?"

"The device keeping it open is surrounded with a high energy force-field of some kind," says Romanoff. "Stark said he already threw all he had at it. There's no way for us to turn it off."

"What about the energy it's discharging?" Coulson continues. "Isn't there anything in Stark's tower we can use to disrupt it somehow? Discharge the arc reactor at a competing frequency, maybe?"

Barton and Romanoff stare at him. "Do you even know what you're saying?" says the former.

"Who _are_ you?" asks the later.

Stark soars in, taking out another few Chitauri on his way before landing among them. He turns toward Coulson. "_This_ is Hill's idea of reinforcements?"

"Stark, the portal," Coulson insists as Thor and the Hulk join them as well. "We have to get it closed before the entire perimeter is overrun. Is there anything you can do to disrupt that energy field?"

"I have JARVIS working on it, but he hasn't come up with anything useful so far," says Stark. He can't exactly do a double take in the suit but the joints in his neck whirr as if he's trying. "Wait. Are you Captain _Rogers_?"

"I'm Captain America," says Coulson, not without a pang in his chest. "And that doesn't matter right now anyway." He can feel Hill in his ear but his cover is still not on his list of things to care about at the moment. "If we can't disrupt the portal we need to shut it off at the source, and the only one who might know how to do that is Erik Selvig. Do we have a location on him?"

"How do you know Erik Selvig?" asks Barton.

"Who the hell are you?" adds Stark.

Coulson grits his teeth. "I'm-"

The Chitauri come at them again, and the team splits to intercept. Between Stark and Thor the worst of the onslaught is easily curbed, but Coulson gets in a few good hits of his own. By the time the streets are clear enough for them to talk again, Coulson's heart is pumping fiercely and sweat is steam-cooking his already muddled brain. He jerks his mask off.

"I'm Captain Steve Rogers of the old SSR," he tells his team. "Agent Hill briefed me on the way over. I'll answer whatever other questions you have_after_ we get that portal closed." He waves them in closer. "Romanoff, you need to find Selvig and get him to talk if you can. He's likely on the top of the tower with the device, if we're lucky. Barton, cover her. You'll do us all a lot more good with eyes up top anyway. Stark, Thor, Hulk-" he pales a shade but goes on "-you're the best weapons we've got in this and we need you to keep these things contained as much as possible. I'm sticking to the streets. There are a lot of civilians down here that need help evacuating safely."

Everyone stares. Coulson glances from one to the next and is sorely tempted to blow his cover entirely-Romanoff and Barton at least would follow him if he did. Probably even Stark, but only if they believe him. They won't believe him. So he swallows, and gathers himself up. "Unless you have a better idea."

The Avengers exchange looks. Stark volunteers to take Barton up top, and Thor takes Natasha. They get to work. Once Coulson is alone in the streets he takes a deep breath. "Hill?"

"You're doing fine," she says, and he can hear gunfire in the background of her com that is repeated in echoes from somewhere down the street. "Just stay focused, Captain."

"Are you still in the field?" Coulson asks, tossing aside his spent firearm. He spots a discarded Chitauri weapon and snatches it up. "You should get back to the director."

"Negative," she says. "I'm a SHIELD agent." He can almost hear her smirk. "All SHIELD agents are field agents."

Coulson smiles, and then the Chitauri close in, so he goes to work. It's actually a lot like Budapest after all.

Coulson fights harder than he ever has. All his heartache and confusion falls aside and there's only the shield on his arm, and the enemy on the other end of his weapon, and men and women needing his help. He feels strength well up from inside and it guides him from one foe to the next, propelling him past mental and physical exhaustion. When he takes a shot to the gut it slows him down, but Thor is suddenly beside him, covering for him, like teammates are meant to. As far as Thor knows they're strangers, but he helps Coulson to his feet and waits until he's steady before moving on. It's what Coulson's always hoped for, and even though he has no idea how it's happened, he's so damn grateful he laughs out loud.

Romanoff learns how to stop the portal. Stark makes the sacrifice play. Coulson holds his breath. He wants to say something-a quip, a piece of sagely advice, a thank you-but all he can do is squint up into the maw of space and wait, just like everyone else. When Stark pulls through, he can't help himself.

"You were right," he says. "You were exactly who we needed."

Starks stares up at him through the open face mask, but he's too bleary and half-conscious to understand the significance behind Coulson's words, so he gives a half-hearted, "It's about time someone said so," and then they're off to collect Loki.

They find him in Stark Tower. When he looks to Coulson, confused, Coulson lets his better sense take another break and says, "I told you so."

Loki blinks up at him. "Excuse me?"

Coulson crouches down so that they can meet eye to eye. "You lost," he says quietly, "because you lack conviction."

Loki's eyes widen. Recognition hits him, but before he can say a word, Coulson grabs him by the jaw. He turns back to his team. "I think this dog is going to need a muzzle."

* * *

Thor takes Loki and the Tesseract home with him. No one complains who's worth listening to. When the Earth is finally alien-free The Avengers turn inward to their newest and least expected member.

Coulson is still in the uniform. His adrenaline has thinned and exhaustion is creeping in, clawing outward from his burned and throbbing abdomen. Hill is at his side. She's seen better days but she's definitely seen worse, and he can feel her tense in anticipation of the questions about to be levied on them both. She's a good spy and she's probably got a story in mind.

Whatever it is, Coulson prefers a lie of his own making. He knows she's adaptable enough to keep up. "The truth is, I've been awake for a while now," he tells his teammates. "But apparently the World Security Council didn't take kindly to me being dug up in the first place. Director Fury had me quarantined, catching me up." He glances to Hill. "He was hoping to keep me to himself, I guess, but I couldn't stay on the sidelines with this going on. Thankfully, Agent Hill agreed."

"So it's really you," says Stark, unconvinced. "Captain America."

"Yes, sir."

"You seem awfully casual about all of this," remarks Barton. "For being in ice for seventy years."

There's nothing casual about being drawn taut to the point of snapping. There's nothing easy about lying in the face of men and women you've known for years, trusted and depended on. "War is war," says Coulson. "In any time. I'm just sorry I couldn't do more."

Everyone exchanges looks. They don't know what to say or think, and even if they can't find reasons to distrust him, he can sure tell they're not ready to accept him. Still, Banner shakes his hand before getting his things and leaving with Stark. It's a start. Romanoff and Barton request some time off before returning to SHIELD, and Hill grants it. Before she leaves, Romanoff shakes Coulson's hand, too.

"You didn't happen to meet Agent Coulson while you were in quarantine, did you?" she asks.

"No, I'm afraid not," Coulson says carefully.

"Shame." Romanoff shakes her head. "He was really looking forward to meeting you."

Coulson manages not to wince. "I know the feeling."

By the time Coulson and Hill make it back, the Hellicarrier has landed and is undergoing repairs. Fury has been called to speak to the Council, and Coulson takes the opportunity to retreat to his (new) quarters. The medics try to chase him down but he refuses. There's something about self-administered field medicine that helps him focus, and once he's cleaned and sterilized his many scrapes and burns the battlefield is long behind him.

He sits on the edge of his bed for a long time, flipping through his old Captain America trading cards. They're near mint. A complete set. It's taken him years to find them all. He remembers which one he got first, and he brushes his thumb over the corner, feeling the slight separation of the paper. When he presses it to his nose, he can still catch the faint smell of the cigar box he used to keep it in under his bed.

He remembers the one he found at the pawn shop. The one he scoured for on Ebay. The lucky find in a shop window when traveling abroad. He remembers hiding with his comics and a flashlight under the blankets past two in the morning, he remembers playing little league, third base, picturing a hero in the stands cheering for him to make the next catch. He remembers getting shot in the back on his fortieth birthday, a grown man telling himself not to panic, Captain America wouldn't panic. His whole life is filled with memories like that.

Someone knocks on the door, and then enters before Coulson can invite them in. It's Hill. She's dressed down, the top of her jumpsuit unzipped and hanging behind her, revealing her black tank top. The last time he saw her with her hair down was after she suffered a head wound on a job in Afghanistan. She opens her mouth, and he's sure she's about to ask some manner of _are you okay?_ before she realizes how stupid that is. Even the world's best spies are not always on their game.

"You did good today," Hill says instead.

Coulson flips to the next card-Captain America is saluting him. "What about tomorrow?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

Coulson rubs his thumb against the star on the Captain's chest. "This isn't reversible, is it?"

Hill glances back into the hall and then steps into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. "Of course it's not."

"Why not?" Coulson doesn't look up as Hill moves closer. "However Fury was able to impose my brainwaves on the captain, there must be-"

"Even if there was a way, taking you out wouldn't bring him back," Hill says. The mattress jostles as she sits down next to him. "And there's nowhere else for you to go."

Coulson puts the cards on the bedside table. "I feel like he's still with me," he confesses quietly. "As if at any moment he's going to wake up-" he gestures to his chest "-inside me. I felt him when I was on the field. Maybe if I could just step back, then he'd-"

Again Hill interrupts him, her fingers tight around his wrist. "Your mind is playing tricks on you. Steve Rogers is gone. He's been gone for a long time."

Coulson smiles reflexively. "I know," he says. "I do know that. But it's strange. They don't train you for things like this." He glances down to his hand beneath Hill's grip, and the pale scars around his knuckles. "A week ago, if someone had told me I'd have to die in order to get Captain America back, I would have gone willingly."

"Coulson." It's the first time she's said his name since he woke up, and it draws his full attention back to her. "That is exactly what happened."

Coulson's brow furrows, but before he can protest, she continues. "You did die. We can go see your body in a bag, if you want. And now we have Captain America." She slides her hand from his wrist to his palm and squeezes. "Think about it. This body with this strength, coupled with your experience? I said you were the best and I meant it, and now you have even more. Who can do this job if not you? We _need_ you." She covers their joined hands with her free one. "And _if_ there's anything left of Steve Rogers in there, I'm sure he's saying the same thing. He already gave his life for his country once. It's his turn to rest."

She leans in close, awkward but sincere, touching her forehead to his temple. "It's our turn to fight. I know you'll make him proud." She swallows. "Like you made me proud today."

Coulson closes his eyes. Hill's voice is rough in his ear-he's never heard or seen this side of her, and it swells emotion in his chest as effectively as her words. His body tightens and his eyes burn, and she leans closer still, supporting him. She's right. Coulson already knows what Captain America would do if asked to lay down his life for a soldier, even an unworthy one, because he's just that good. He knows that if Captain America wanted to wake up, he could have, would have. Maybe it's better this way, for him. Maybe he's content to watch over from above. He's earned his rest.

But it still hurts. Coulson lets out a shaky breath and is ashamed of his own weakness. "I don't think I'm good enough," he says, a child again-that same young kid that grew up needing a hero to idolize.

"Then get better," Hill replies, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

She kisses the corner of his mouth. He isn't sure what she means by it at first, but he welcomes it. He turns toward her; the warmth of her cheek against his is a much needed comfort. Both of them shift slightly on the mattress, knees bumping, and then stop, breath held. Coulson's never seen Hill like this. She's tense, and strong, and vulnerable at once, and he realizes that for as right as she is, she's just as confused as him. Her breath hisses with unspoken questions: _Did I say the right thing? Am I helping at all? What can I do?_

She has no idea what she's doing.

It's oddly comforting to know that he's not the only stranger in his own skin. He shifts again and their lips skate across each other's. It's probably a mistake, but Coulson kisses her full on the mouth, and she doesn't pull back. They're both tired, and confused, and hurt, and it's the perfect time to have a warm body to nestle into and forget everything else.

They fall into the bed together. Hill wraps Coulson up, tight and sweet and suddenly in control again. When she rolls onto her back Coulson follows and quickly finds himself light-headed; it's too strange, feeling a woman curling around a body that isn't his. Guilty exhilaration spurs him through long minutes of eager kisses, but when she arcs her back it's too much. It's too soon. His stomach turns and he sags. "I can't," he breathes. "I'm sorry, I-"

"It's okay." Hill relaxes, and once Coulson's caught his breath, she urges him to rest his head against her chest. "I'm sorry. I know it's...I didn't mean-"

"I know." Coulson wraps his arms around her waist and relaxes into her. "Thank you."

Hill tries not to squirm. "Do you want me to stay?" she asks quietly.

"Please," says Coulson, and his arms tighten, so that there's no way she can say no. It's selfish, but she offered. "Yes, please stay."

He needs it, and she can tell, so she holds him all night. He has strange dreams, of battlefields and old missions, and then of quiet fields and pristine beaches spreading out for miles in every direction. He dreams of fire and ice and everything in between. It's like watching his life flash before his eyes, as peacefully as dying. A hand touches his and then is gone, but he can feel it for a long time afterwards, in the fingerprints pressed into the back of his palm.

When Coulson wakes up, he's still wrapped around Hill, and she's wrapped around him, doing her best to check her phone messages without disturbing him. He smiles, and when she realizes he's awake and watching her, she blushes and tries to look like the phone isn't important, her focus is entirely on him. He appreciates even that effort more than he can say, so he settles with, "Thank you," and she smiles back.

"And we still don't know anything about each other," Hill teases grimly.

Coulson chuckles. "We know enough."

They find Fury in his quarters. There just might be gray in his whiskers that wasn't there before. He glances between the two of them, wary and almost sheepish, and it isn't until then that Coulson remembers how tersely they parted before the battle.

"Boss," says Coulson, "I'm ready for my orders."

Fury glances between them again. "You're sure?" he asks.

"Don't see that I have much choice. But yes, sir. I'm sure." Coulson takes in a deep breath, letting it filter through him. He has a long way to go. "I'm ready to be Captain America."

Fury is a hard man to read, but Coulson is fairly certain there's an apology nestled in there somewhere. "Then you're not still pissed at me?"

"No, sir. Not at the moment." Coulson's not an easy read, either, but he knows for absolute certain that Fury can see what he's thinking. They're okay. It won't be easy, but they're going to be just fine.

"Glad to hear it," says Fury, and he means it. "For now, we're only worried about repairs and cleanup. Find a department that needs help and get to it. Those are your orders."

"Yes, sir."

Coulson sees himself out. As soon as he's gone, Fury looks at Hill. "Thank you," he says.

Hill smiles slightly. "He just needed a push."


End file.
